


The Cool of The Dawn

by melonkis



Series: The Cold Tea [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crime Scenes, Drama, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27079021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonkis/pseuds/melonkis
Summary: Love is something that happens to other people.
Relationships: Molly Hooper/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Series: The Cold Tea [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859932
Comments: 41
Kudos: 35





	1. A Warning Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Yes, this is a sequel to "The Cold Tea" series but nothing to worry about - I don't think you need to read the previous part to understand everything. It's recommended, though - there's a chance you'll get a better understanding of my Sherlolly creation.
> 
> After moving to Blackpool, Molly's relationship with Sherlock has been mostly long-distance and Sherlock arrives with an offer. She's happy and scared at the same time, sensing troubles along the way.
> 
> Enjoy!

“I’ve been thinking lately, it’s been a while since I last had a flatmate.”

Molly looked at Sherlock lying next to her on her bed.

Summer had come in its fullest, despite the average temperature in Blackpool not being really impressive - it certainly had to do with the close proximity of the sea. Molly Hooper didn’t pay much attention to the weather, though. She was consumed by the most anxious thoughts regarding her future. The contract kept getting closer to its deadline and she was offered its extension. Her boss expressed his wish for her stay with the research facility for at least next five years and she got used to the much better salary and the changeable work schedule. She’d thought earlier it would be a problem but it had turned out to be a nice change of pace. She had no flat or job back in London but the picture of her together with Sherlock again... Truth be told, it got her worried as much as excited. She was afraid their current situation was most suitable - she couldn’t be a distraction for him when he was working and he didn’t bother her with his (sometimes very annoying) habits and tendencies.

And then, when visiting her under the guise of a mystery “day off” (that’s what he’d said to John), he told her _that_. She couldn’t deny she’d been hoping for _something_ that could get them closer. _Much_ closer.

“Oh... all right. Are you going to find someone new, then?” she asked, trying to disguise her disappointed.

“I believe I’ve already found one.”

She frowned.

“John again?”

Sherlock turned his head towards her, smiling significantly.

“Oh!” she gasped in an epiphany. Her heart raced wildly. “A-are you asking me to move in-“

“I will be delighted if you say yes.”

She attempted to restrain herself from a huge grin but failed spectacularly, chuckling and beaming to the point of her face muscles hurting. She let out a giggle, happiness taking over her body. She lifted herself on an elbow, leaning closer to him.

“And you are sure? Sherlock, living with a girlfriend is different than living with a friend. What if you find it too complicated?” A sudden wave of worry flooded her thoughts.

“Then we’ll try to find a solution that will suit both sides,” he replied confidently. She had a feeling he’d gained more self-confidence in the role of her boyfriend and felt truly proud of it - not that he would admit it, though. “Besides, thanks to this arrangement, I think the frequency of our sexual intercourse can be improved.”

Molly raised her eyebrows in a surprise.

“Does it mean you... _enjoy_ it?” she asked, avoiding his gaze, interested in the fluffy pillow under her elbow.

“I most certainly do,” he said in casual tone. “Does it mean you say ‘yes’?”

She met his eyes and waited a moment before answering, then smiled softly.

“It does.”

He returned the smile. He wouldn’t interrupt their longing gaze and then reached to the back of her head with his hand and lifted himself on his elbow, locking them both in a passionate kiss. She often had to stop herself from moaning when they had _their_ moments. She returned his kisses with a growing hunger now that the flat was only theirs - Lily and Nate had gone on holidays and weren’t supposed to get back for another week. She wished Sherlock could stay with her for the entire time but it would look at least suspicious.

He stopped, however, for a moment.

“Not that I have to but I thought you would find it romantic if I asked you this: do _you_ enjoy our intercourse?”

She frowned again.

“You know I do.”

“Yes, I do, but now that I think of it, hearing this from your lips was far more enjoyable than I thought it would.”

His mischievous smirk almost swept her off her feet. He locked their lips together greedily, and she gave in with no hesitation.

* * *

“It’s kind of official, don’t you think?” Molly asked, stumping nervously in front of the boot of a cab.

“Yes, I do,” Sherlock replied, pulling out her luggage out of the car. He closed the boot and signalled to the driver that he could go. He finally turned his gaze to her. “But I’m not afraid. I’m sensing nervousness on your side, though.”

“Well... you know, I’m a bit afraid of what they’ll say. We’ve never seemed like a couple material and-”

“Does it mean you have some doubts about us?”

“No! Absolutely not, it’s just-“

“Molly!”

Their heads turned into the direction of the black door with the number 221B on it. Mrs Hudson stood on the first step of the stairs, looking rather confused. Her frown, however, faded as she figured it all out.

“Did you come to visit?”

Molly opened her mouth to lie but Sherlock interjected.

“No, Mrs Hudson, Molly is my new flatmate.”

Molly tried to smile to the landlady but her utter astonishment discouraged Molly completely. She looked at Sherlock, worried, but he kept gazing at Mrs Hudson, apparently anticipating further events, but the landlady remained silent. He took a few steps towards her, a warm smile lightning up his face. He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look him closer in the eye.

“Molly is my girlfriend.”

Doctor Hooper gasped and shifted nervously. She covered her face with her hand, reluctant to watch the scene. She was strongly convinced their news would trigger an apocalypse amongst their friends.

Mrs Hudson kept up the gaze and inhaled sharply, waking up from some kind of trance.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” And she disappeared inside the flat.

Sherlock turned towards Molly.

“She loved it.”

Molly chuckled and followed Holmes to the first floor.

A couple of minutes later, when they started unpacking her things (not all of them; Lily promised to send the rest next week), Mrs Hudson entered _their_ flat with a tea pot and three cups on a tray and put it on _their_ coffee table. She was still very quiet, awaiting the moment they joined her on the couch, and didn’t say a word until they all took their first sip. They sat, however, opposite to her, on two chairs.

“How long has this been going?” she asked, her face deadly serious.

It made Molly anxious. She intended to reply but Sherlock was quicker again.

“Around four months,” he said surprisingly calmly, not a shred of sarcasm in his voice.

“Is that why you have been absent so frequently?”

“Yes. I’ve been visiting Molly in Blackpool.”

They fell silent for a while.

“Does John know?”

“No. You are the first one, Mrs H.”

The landlady took another sip of her tea and Molly watched her carefully, trying to read her behaviour.

“And this is serious?”

“Yes,” they said simultaneously.

Molly smiled under her nose. Then she heard a movement on the couch and before she could react, Mrs Hudson’s arms were gathering her and Sherlock in a really tight embrace. Molly barely managed to save her tea and the cup from spilling on the floor. Sherlock didn’t look very pleased by the unexpected proof of unconditional love but patted his landlady on her back, while Molly giggled quietly.

“I’m so happy you two found each other!” She finally let go of her embrace, looking at them beamingly. Her happiness seemed genuine. Her face shifted suddenly, focused on him. “Don’t you dare mess this up, Sherlock Holmes!” she said, wagging her finger at the detective.

He rolled his eyes on her.

“Relax, Mrs H., this is not some complicated puzzle so I would be confused by that,” he replied.

“Oh, love is far more complicated matter than you think, my dear,” she said, going back to her seat on the couch.

“I beg to differ,” he muttered quietly enough so the landlady wouldn’t hear him.

Molly glanced at him, frowned, but he didn’t notice that.

As it turned out later, Mrs. Hudson wasn’t the only one with difficulties whilst taking the news about them. John Watson got almost furious and started a tirade about a _betrayal, AGAIN!_ and couldn’t believe the two of them managed to keep their secret for so long. Eventually, he’d came around and expressed his happiness for them but it took him at least four hours. Greg Lestrade was in a deep shock at first and created a new habit of asking one question repeatedly: “Seriously, Sherlock? _You_ have a girlfriend?”, which Holmes began to ignore after a couple of times. Molly’s friends were reluctant to believe her as well; they’d known she was his friend and an accomplice in his suicide sham but they couldn’t imagine her being a girlfriend material for him. Even the press knew about Sherlock’s lack of interest in anything different than his job. Luckily for her (and not so much for him, in a sense), newspapers had fallen silent about him by the time she moved in as he had been taking mostly small cases, so they weren’t interested in any gossip. The lack of stimulants, however, made him more and more vexed, effecting in limiting the number of words said to her on a daily basis and increasing the number of his fury attacks restrained in the last minute by just looking at her face.

Molly wasn’t thriving as well. She’d imagined her return to London would make things easier, especially in job-related matters but a disappointment hit her heavily once she called in a favour in order to find out about the situation at Bart’s. An old colleague of hers got back to her with the sad news that the hospital’s staff was full and they even considered redundancies. Her hope dried out, leaving her anxious. She felt grateful to herself for selling the house - her savings let her live relatively safe for the next several months but sitting at the Baker Street all the time with Sherlock, especially in such a bad mood, began to be unbearable.

There were moments when he was cheerful all day and focused on her entirely, offering dinners at her favourite places and interesting activities, like going to a museum or watching a film together. One of those days Molly remembered very well as Sherlock’s behaviour was almost unbelievable. She woke up pretty early - the mugginess of the hot summer night wouldn’t let her sleep too well - to make herself a tea. If she could say anything about a success during her living with Sherlock, it was definitely convincing him to put away his lab equipment into boxes after being done with experimenting for the day. Holmes, indeed, cleaned up the table the previous night and she smiled at it once she entered the kitchen. She didn’t manage to even put on the kettle when she heard from behind her:

“Good morning, Molly Hooper.”

She turned around and beamed at his presence; he stood at the kitchen threshold.

“Good morning, Sherlock.”

He strolled towards her and cupped her face in his hands, locking their lips in a pretty passionate kiss. She enjoyed it, of course, but didn’t quite understand what was happening. It wasn’t Sherlock’s usual morning behaviour. He led her to the table and sat her on it, never leaving her lips, even for a minute. She managed to catch her breath and say:

“I was kind of going to make a breakfast for us-”

“Can this be counted as a breakfast?” he murmured, his hands wandering all over her back.

She felt his fingers struggling with the first button of her navy blue, short-sleeved pyjama and she gasped uncontrollably. Definitely not what she expected. She frowned a bit anyway.

“Well, it doesn’t really involve eating, so I’m not...” she mumbled and didn’t get to finish her sentence as Sherlock suddenly squatted in front of her. A second later she felt the fabric of her pyjama shorts sliding under her and down her legs. He placed his hands on the both sides of her hips and pulled them closer to the edge of the table.

She felt a soft touch between her legs and uttered a quiet moan. She still didn’t understand his demeanour but couldn’t focus on her astonishment too much; her visit got blurry.

“Is that eating for you now?”

She finally connected the dots.

“Oh!” Her exclamation was a mix of an epiphany and pleasure.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

But the darker days were bigger in number. There were long hours she couldn’t get a word out of him, ordering and eating dinners all by herself. _Digestion slows me down_. His growing lack of interest in food made him thinner, dark circles appeared under his eyes. She was worried but didn’t want to get in his way too much at the same time. She wanted to anticipate a better moment to start a conversation about the hard time he’d been going through but the heaviness of her own issues weighed her down enough to find it hard for her to help anyone.

Summer that year was extremely hot and stuffy, to the point of making the Baker Street flat an unbearable place live in. But the conditions weren’t any better outside. Every day all the London residents prayed for at least a bit of wind or rain. They could usually rely on the second thing but not back then. Neither Molly nor Sherlock could find any rest in sleep, tossing and turning in their bed like crazies. Doctor Hooper, however, found a way to cool herself down eventually. She got out of the bed once, at the ungodly hour around three or four am, and sat at the open window. She noticed the temperature was the lowest at this time of the day and made a habit of her early wakeups. She used to lean her head on the window frame, inhaling the rarefied air and enjoying it until the sun came up.

Her eyes wandered around their neighbourhood, following all the early birds travelling across the barely lit sky and cars speeding down the Baker Street. She found her morning sessions relaxing as she had the time to digest her recent feelings and thoughts once again, without a shred of distraction, without Sherlock running around nervously in a search of stimulants. Her skin soaked up the tiny ounce of coolness in the air at the dawn, her muscles resting easily with her body leaned against the window frame. _Anxious_. That feeling filled her head, becoming another reason of her recent insomnia. She wasn’t delusional four months ago, she’d known the relationship with him wouldn’t be the easiest but having lived with him for a month, the first doubts popped into her mind. Maybe they just needed to find their own balance, like some ground rules. Establish a routine.

 _Rules? Routine? With Sherlock Holmes?_ She scoffed at her own silliness. _You’re one naive scientist, doctor Hooper_. She tried to deny it but the longer she did, the more the truth seemed to resurface. This hadn’t got anything to do with happiness. She could barely call it a relationship. Occasional sex and glimpses of normality weren’t enough to be a basis for a _romantic entanglement_.

She bit her lower lip.

No, she couldn’t give up. She didn’t do anything to mend it. She had to try. And first, she should ask for a serious conversation with him, telling him about all of her feelings since he was oblivious about them. She wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t try. She’d endured long years of unrequited love and it wouldn’t feel right if she gave up on them so easily.

“Don’t tell me this bastard kicked you out your own bed.”

Molly turned her head towards the door. John stood four feet from her, smiling gently. She didn’t even hear the door being opened.

“Oh, don’t worry. I just couldn’t sleep,” she replied, trying to smile back sincerely.

She liked John, considering him Sherlock’s greatest friend, teacher and therapist. No one could speak to him like doctor Watson. He was empathetic and kind, and she wondered how come Sherlock and him clicked immediately. She thought the detective was drawn to people with traits he thought he didn’t have, drawn to the light which was so obvious in others and - supposedly - lacking in him. He was in a constant search for a counterbalance. She was the greatest one; but opposites don’t attract. She appreciated how much he’d grown and changed, finding the vulnerability he’d tried to hide, afraid of suffering and traumatised by the death of his friend. But was his growth enough?

John sat down on the couch on her left.

“Yeah, the summer’s killing me as well,” he said. “Not to mention Rosie. She would be unbearable if she weren’t so lovely.”

Molly giggled.

“And how’s _your_ child doing?”

She glanced towards the bedroom door.

“Moody,” she answered and chuckled. “Never stops complaining.”

“Tell me about it.” John rolled his eyes. “If you ever feel like getting rid of the anger of living with the git, let me know. I’ll understand you better than anyone else.”

They laughed quietly. Doctor Watson always managed to turn everything into a light story, especially about Sherlock, and she wondered what would it look like if they still lived together. _Oh, people would definitely talk_ , she thought, trying to cover her chuckle.

“Anyway, I think I have a remedy for your lovely boy’s bad mood.”

“I thought it was your voice.”

Sherlock appeared in the living room, staring mostly at John with a great deal of hope in his eyes. Doctor Watson stood up, approaching the detective.

“And good morning to you, too, my friend.”

“Oh, come one, John, can’t you let go of the ridiculous social conventions you love so much-“

“I believe we’ve caught a big one.”

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled and widened. Molly watched as his attention focused only on their guest. She doubted he even glanced at her once, as though she’d become a pattern on the wallpaper or an expendable piece of decoration. She turned her gaze towards the people dashing down the Baker Street.

“Don’t try to build up a suspense, John.”

“Lestrade says it’s a nightmare, called him _The Freezerer_. Three victims. All froze to death in different industry freezers in London.”

“HA!” Sherlock clapped his hands, his voice obviously excited and alive again. “Brilliant. Finally, I was so bored.” Molly felt a twinge of pain in her heart, her face still turned away from them. “The irony, the buzz of adrenaline! That’s what I needed. Great job, my dear Watson. Let me change my clothes and we’ll get going.”

He rushed to the bathroom and Molly let out a sigh. John Watson turned his head towards her and flashed her a look she wasn’t able to decipher at first but after a while, she was certain it was compassion.

She sat at the window until they left the flat. She watched as the sun moved higher on the sky, filling the air with heaviness and taking the cool of the dawn away from her.


	2. Say It To Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos' and comments under the last chapter! It was more than I expected. :)

“Yes, of course, I understand. Thank you for your call.”

Molly tapped the red button on her phone and sighed. Her eyes rested on one point far behind the window for a minute, steadying her body in one position. After that, she resumed and stroke out another name from her notebook. It had been two months of a fruitless job search and she was tired of every inch of her body and mind. She felt useless and helpless, and dispensable.

Sherlock had been on a constant high for over a month. His obsession had taken over his body and brain, engaging him utterly. She existed only when he needed an answer for a question on a pathological matter. Once her voice waned in the air, her existence in his eyes followed. John managed to flash her a couple of pitiful glances to which she responded with a weak smile.

Her plan for a great, cathartic conversation was officially put on hold but she knew very well the talk was never about to happen. This case sucked him entirely, giving him the opportunity to spend every second working on it. Their life ceased to be, not to mention their sex. The steamy morning had turned out to be one of her last memories of any intimacy with him. She would get back to it often, reliving all the emotions they shared. As Sherlock was constantly following a lead far away from their flat, Molly spent most of her days going through job offers, reading in bed or watching trash telly. She had never felt so lonely, even before they got together. Sometimes _her boyfriend_ would disappear for an entire night and come back the next morning without a word of explanation. She would then send a text to John to make sure he’s all right.

“These are some pretty eyes, my dear.”

Mrs Hudson’s face appeared from behind her and she looked at her immediately. She glanced back at the notebook to notice that her thoughts led her to drawing unconsciously. An entire page was filled with big eyes, which pupils were dilated and lashes dreamingly long.

“Oh, Mrs Hudson, I didn’t hear you walking in,” Molly said, trying to form a compelling smile out of her lips.

Mrs Hudson’s eyebrows frowned in a worry. She sat slowly on the couch next to Molly, who turned towards her.

“I was going to ask you if you want a cuppa... but now I think the better question would be: are you all right?”

Molly blinked in a surprise, definitely not expecting this kind of question from the landlady, whose face was more serious than she’d ever seen.

“Uh, yes, I’m okay,” she replied, faking another smile. “I just- I’m a bit worried about my job, that’s all.”

Mrs Hudson’s eyes studied her thoroughly and she seemed even more dismayed.

“Are you sure that’s all? Because I’ve seen how he’s been acting lately and-“

“Wonderful!” Sherlock and John entered the flat and Mrs Hudson’s attention turned towards them. Molly felt oddly grateful for their noisy return.

She didn’t want to discuss the matter with anyone but him. The last spark of hope let her carry on, planning how to approach the subject. What would be the best moment, which words would be most appropriate? She discovered that the thought of their conversation triggered a weird sort of anxiety in her. She felt like a schoolgirl, afraid to ask her dad if she can go the party everybody’s going. She watched the three of them conversing cheerfully next to the mantelpiece. Sherlock accidentally stood opposite to the window, letting the sun light up his skin. The sunshine was dancing in his eyes, giving his bright blue irises an intriguing glow. His dark curls seemed to gain a new shade - a bit of brown tangled between the strands over his forehead. He smiled at something John said and Molly felt like her heart sunk in the warmth of this gesture.

She just wished he began to smile like that at her again.

* * *

Molly unlocked the door with number 221B and entered the dim hall. She was more than happy to take off her black jacket and unfasten several buttons of her white shirt before climbing up the stairs. She took off her heels on her way up.

This was her last chance. It was this lab or none. She desperately needed a job, not only for the obvious reasons but she hoped to find a place where her thoughts on her relationship would be quieter, less intrusive. Job had always had a very therapeutic effect on her - she loved keeping her mind completely drowned in those molecules under the very observant eye of the microscope lens. She knew it was one of the very popular ways to escape the reality but her reality was overwhelming and saddening at best and she needed the hideout. She felt she was going crazy and she extended her stay out of the flat for a very long walk. She knew no one would worry about her.

She sighed softly, standing in front of the door on the first floor, and pushed them open. They were very rarely closed anyway.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair motionlessly, wearing one of his suits, his eyes stuck on some irrelevant point in the kitchen. It seemed he wasn’t even blinking. It could only mean one thing - he was working. Molly rolled her eyes, feeling a wave of frustration creeping into her chest. She didn’t even say “hi” - it would be pointless anyway. She was less visible to him than the atoms of oxygen in the air he breathed. She threw her jacket on the couch and her shoes under it, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Surprisingly, the table was cleaned up again.

She placed her hands on the counter and leaned over the sink, breathing deeply. She’d never thought being ignored could ignite such anger in her. But, to be honest, she hadn’t thought she would be ignored by her own boyfriend like that at all. They were almost like strangers living together. She turned her head right and glanced at Sherlock with hostility. A third person could say their eyes met but his look was absent, reaching somewhere deep in his mind palace.

She looked away, closing her eyelids tightly. She had to try. She took a deep breath and exhaled, strolling towards him. She stopped next to the John’s former chair.

“Sherlock, I’d like to talk to you.”

“Not now. Busy,” he mumbled, not even honouring her with one short glance.

“You’re constantly busy,” she almost hissed through her gritted teeth.

“That’s because I’m working a case,” he replied, finally meeting their eyes.

He seemed annoyed but she would not concede. The grip on her glass of water tightened. She used the moment of their silence to sit in the chair.

“I know,” she said, trying to be understanding. Sadness was fighting the irritation very effectively. “And I know how important your job is to you and I’m not going to compete with that. It’s just...” She paused, staring at her thumbs rubbing each other frantically on the glass. “I’ve been feeling really down lately, Sherlock.”

He frowned.

“About what?”

“My job.”

“Oh, yes. How is your search going?”

Her heart rate quickened and she had to swallow a scream which tried to get out of her throat.

“See, that’s the point,” she replied in a unexpectedly calm tone. “You’re my... _boyfriend_ and you don’t even know what’s going in my life.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, annoyance spreading on his face.

“I told you I couldn’t be a typical boyfriend-“

“Yes, you did but I didn’t know it meant not giving a shit about me.”

His anger faded for a second as he watched her eyes staring daggers at him. Her face was getting more and more red and her gaze was filled with something that Sherlock could only classify as dangerous. Apparently, he didn’t want to seem baffled because he answered with:

“Are you suggesting that you’re unable to find a job on your own? Do you need a supervisor?”

“I am suggesting that you give surprisingly small number of fucks for a person who, supposedly, love me.”

They used the word very rarely, if ever. Their confession was probably the last time love was mentioned and this, she presumed, was the reason he froze for several seconds. He looked down and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice lacked any signs of irritation.

“I thought it would work out for the best if I left you out of my bad mood, and then we’ve got the case and I got busy-“

“Busy enough not to notice my presence in a room?”

He looked up at her, wrath showing up on his face again.

“Do you expect me to kiss you any time I see you or sit next to you every time we’re in the same room?” He winced as though disgusted by this idea. “I’m not a plush toy to be hugged all the time-“

“YOU DON’T EVEN _WANT_ TO LOOK AT ME!”

She had no idea when her body decided to stand up but she definitely rose, her glass of water put away on a small table next to the chair. He followed and took a small step towards her.

“What gives you the right to assume I _don’t_ _want_ to look at you?” he hissed.

They gazed at each other for several seconds in silence but she noticed he couldn’t restrain himself from glancing at her lips, even for a short moment. She felt like never before - despite all the anger taking over her body, a certain, almost forgotten urge crawled up her spine. Her lips opened a little bit and her breathing became irregular. His facial expression loosened as well; he seemed to lean forward a little bit, constantly moving his glance from her lips to her eyes and back again, looking for some answer.

Wild visions invaded her head but before she was able to act on them, the door was pushed open with a fair strength and John Watson materialised in their flat. For some reason, both Molly and Sherlock jumped and stepped back. Molly rubbed her neck, dashing to the kitchen. She felt hotter than most days that summer.

Sherlock also looked distracted but tried to focus to John’s words.

“...and that’s where he went.” Holmes’s friend finished his sentence and a deep silence followed. “Sherlock, we have to go. We’ve got a lead.” Doctor Watson raised his eyebrows.

She leaned over the sink again but looked right at him, just like couple of minutes before. He flashed her an enigmatic look but she noticed a thin wrinkle of worry on his forehead. He left a while later, leaving her confused.

She turned around, pressing her bottom against the kitchen counter. She had to unbutton her shirt a little bit again. She touched her cheeks - they were unexpectedly hot.

Did she just try to have a make-up sex? The question banged against her skull stubbornly. She was a firm believer of conversation as a tool of resolving conflict. Sex wouldn’t explain anything and do any good, except for temporarily cleaning the atmosphere and she’d never done that before. And the idea that it was _Sherlock_ who would initiate it made her feel crazy. Not after such a long time with no intimacy at all. _Maybe he tries to deny his feelings again_ , she thought. That would explain the emphasis on the words _don’t_ _want_.

She sighed, feeling uselessness of her reflections. She could bet everything would get back to normal once he was back.

The bigger her surprise was when he walked into the flat late at night. The muggy weather wouldn’t let Molly sleep again so she engaged her mind with reading next to the dim fireplace. She took a cold shower (not really helpful in cooling her down) and wore her summer pyjama. She looked at him but looked away immediately, as though flustered. The moment of their long gaze popped in her memory back again and the words in the book suddenly made no sense. He took off his jacket, throwing it on the couch. Molly’s perplexity began to grow so she stood up, deciding to try to distract her thoughts in their bed. She walked into their bedroom, put the book away on his desk but decided to bring a glass of water for the night. Once she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, something odd happened really quickly.

She barely noticed him; he cupped her face in his palms and started kissing her passionately, almost hungrily, sipping every little taste off of her lips. His hands were wild, tangling into her hair, grabbing her bottom, caressing her back. Once the first shock passed, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

She didn’t realise she missed their closeness so much. Her heart was pounding so fast and heavily she heard it as thumping in her ears. She couldn’t control the sounds coming out of her mouth; normally, she would be embarrassed by the fact that she needed so little to get so aroused but she couldn’t care less. She let herself enjoy the moment with no limitations.

The entire scene took less than two minutes but once he pulled away, they were breathing heavily, wildness in their eyes. He was looking down at first but raised his head, looking her straight in the eye gently.

“I am sorry,” he whispered but it seemed like not directed at her. “I couldn’t stop- I had to...”

He dashed to the bathroom, leaving her almost breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... not much happening here. But I guess I'm getting worse and worse at creating like, real action? You'll get more soon. Or so I hope you'll see it that way.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	3. Such Sweet Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and the tittle pretty such sums up the chapter's content. I didn't even check it. I'm not feeling it. I think this part is a disaster, so... I'm just publishing it because I know I won't find the strength to make it better. 
> 
> Anyway... I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

Each one of the following days was a proof that their conversation woke something up in Sherlock but he decided to bury it again - everything got back to normal. Their communication ceased to be and Molly’s frustration stroke again. But she began to suspect he’d been pushing her away partially on purpose because that night, when she finally closed her eyes in their bed, she felt a subtle movement behind her. He brushed her arm gently and reached to her hand and squeezed it softly. He’d been struggling with something and wouldn’t let her in. It was more frustrating than anything else he’d done.

Molly’s patience, however, was getting dangerously close to its limit. She seemed to had found almost every excuse possible for his behaviour but none of them would be enough for long as her decreasing self-esteem and strength began to ruin her mental stability. Something dark and deranging woke up in her and she tried to deny its existence but even then she knew it would not last for long. Every denial has its end.

A terrible headache was torturing her when Sherlock decided to have a mental breakdown. He was going furiously in circles, mumbling angrily under his nose and shouting random phrases from time to time. A high temperature causing their sweat drip wasn’t helpful at all. Molly tried to focus her tired thoughts on something unrelated to the reality, get sucked in a weird thought chain of memories and imagination but the mugginess seemed to be wedging into her ears to turn her brain into a hurting sponge. That, mixed with her boyfriend’s rage, became unbearable.

“I would kill for a glass of water,” she mumbled, curled up in a corner of the couch.

“Please, do me a favour and do not speak to me unless I give you my direct consent,” he replied.

She didn’t intend for him to hear those words but she thought it was good he did. She stared at him for a minute or two, her eyebrows furrowed. She almost hyperventilated from the indignation.

“Are you seriously saying I should _ask_ you for a permission to speak?”

The tone of her voice should have warned him but it only forced him to stop and roll his eyes.

“Molly, I just told you, I don’t have time-“

“Well, I’m happy for you to have such a engaging job but I start to think I’m expendable for you right now.”

Sherlock inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes.

“Molly, for Christ’s sake, would you just please shut up while I’m working because I’m not having an exceptionally good day today and would very much like to find the one stupid clue I haven’t been able to find for the last two months?”

Molly stood up, ran her tongue over her lips and took a deep breath.

“As it happens, I’ve had a bad day every day for the last two months and you haven’t been kind enough to respect my requests to talk. Now, tell me, based on this, why do you expect me to respect yours?”

Sherlock gazed at her without blinking for a long moment, digesting her words.

“I don’t find my job and your feelings matters of equal importance,” he replied eventually, his voice gravely serious and low.

Molly crossed her arm on her chest. The waving movement of her hand caused a breaking sound. She gazed down and it turned out she accidentally knocked off an empty cup. She ignored that, way too absorbed by her growing anger.

“So, I’m guessing, my feelings are the one of less importance.”

“Yes, I’m not really interested in your high school drama right now. There is a serial killer to catch.”

She strolled towards him slowly, her head pointed down. She raised it once she was very close to him. It caused his discomfort as he shifted nervously. When their eyes met, her look was filled with fury difficult to contain.

“Don’t you dare to disrespect my feelings like that ever again,” she snarled at him through her gritted teeth. “If you can’t restrain yourself from doing so, I would suggest reconsidering the point of our relationship.”

She turned on the heel and shut the door to the bedroom behind her really loudly.

Did she regret her words? Once the heat in her chest went down, she had a moment of pain once she regained the memory of his face when she told what he did. For a second, she saw the shock and pain distorting his face but she also remembered his words and his suffering, however short, didn’t seem so distracting as he didn’t even try to talk to her. As usual, her feelings were _of less importance_.

Besides, she’d loved her new sleeping spot on the couch.

Not that he’d forbidden her to sleep in his bed but he also didn’t exactly insisted on her staying with him. He might have tried to handle the situation - after all, even _he_ wasn’t emotionally blind enough to omit the fact that her body was missing from the bed and he was definitely capable of connecting the dots - but she cut him off immediately: _Please. Don’t be ridiculous_.

What was she still doing in his flat? She considered their relationship dead and the bitterness began to be tiresome. Every day once Sherlock was out, she planned how to pack things and move out without having to get back to the place too many times.

Oh, and she cried. She cried extensively but he didn’t seem to be observant enough to notice her constantly red eyes and swollen eyelids. Her body getting thinner and weaker. Her smile fading into darkness.

She finally found the strength to start packing her suitcase but stopped in the middle, torn by doubts. _There must be other reason_ , the thought haunted her, forcing her to hold her hand from sinking in the luggage. She couldn’t get rid of the idea that he tried to balance work and his emotions to get the best result possibly in resolving the puzzle but he failed. His attempts effected in no progress at work and fallout of his relationship. _He’s just a human. He makes mistakes_. She closed her eyes tightly. Yes, he was human but so was she. She had her limitations. She was done with looking for excuses. Done with receiving such heartbreaking treatment.

She thought about their last conversation which turned into an argument. She remembered one weird thing: the broken cup. Once she came back to the living room that day, she discovered it was _their_ cup that was shattered into pieces. That view triggered a twinge of pain in her heart.

She couldn’t carry on. She exited the bedroom and sat on the couch, faced towards the window, squeezing a wet tissue in her hands. Tears fell down her cheeks and something inside her cramped and she could help but to lean on.

She loved him so much she was ready to try again. He couldn’t have turned into a cold-blooded bastard. He’d never been one.

She took a deep, calming breath. Her crying stopped.

“Hello, Molly.”

She turned around abruptly to notice John behind her.

“Oh, hello.” She sniffled, trying to smile at him compellingly. “Sherlock went out-“

“I know. I wanted to talk to _you_.”

John sat on the couch next to her and she moved her body towards him. Her eyebrows frowned in confusion.

“To me?”, she repeated and chuckled nervously. “Why to me-“

“Everyone with eyes could notice that you’re not exactly happy in this... weird arrangement with _him_.”

 _Him_.

She looked down, listening to her heartbeat getting heavier and quicker. She had difficulties admitting to her state of mind and she digested doctor Watson’s words for several seconds. Once she rose her head, she replied with:

“I’m very unhappy.”

Oddly, saying this out loud felt really good; all those cramped up and suppressed emotions got released and she felt lighter, in a way. But it still didn’t change the fact the she was trapped in a really twisted relationship and she couldn’t find a way out. Because the only way out involved hurting her pretty badly.

But did it involve hurting _him_?

Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears and she felt helpless as she couldn’t control it. She felt embarrassed by this happening in the presence of John. She stood up and walked towards the fireplace, turned back on her guest. She stopped at the mirror, seeing her teary eyes and John’s look meeting.

“I’m considering a breakup”, she finally spoke.

Doctor Watson didn’t seem surprised at all; he nodded his head, looking down for a minute.

Molly managed to stop the tears from getting out of her eyes and turned on the heel to look at him. His behaviour indicated a very intense thinking process. They lasted in the utter silence for another couple of minutes, not a muscle moved.

“And you are sure there is no other way?” he asked, breaking their weird state.

Molly shook her head.

“I tried”, she replied, her voice trembling. “I tried talking to him but... I think he might have been right all along. When he said he’s not made for relationships... I think I was very naive. Blindfolded.”

She let herself burst into tears, not caring about John’s presence. Everything inside her hurt and burned, and it seemed like her heart had already been broken. She didn’t see any hope in putting it back together. She didn’t feel like taking another chance at love. She felt heavy and hopeless.

She flopped on his chair, hiding her face behind her hands. It took some time for her to calm down. John was a quiet witness of it all.

“Can I ask you for confidence?”, she said looking at him hopefully.

His lips formed a sad smile.

“Of course, Molly.”

“I don’t think he even loves me”, she whispered after a moment of silence, her eyes focused on an irrelevant point in the kitchen.

Doctor Watson’s face distorted in a wince.

“He wouldn’t lie to you in such matter-“

“I’m not saying he lied to me”, she interjected, looking him straight in the eye. “I just think he might have confused a real trust and friendship with something deeper.” She directed her attention to her fingers intertwining with each other nervously. “But I don’t blame him. After all, it was me who made him say it.”

John began to shake his head but Molly carried on:

“I know you would rather blame Eurus but... she didn’t want _him_ to admit to his feelings. She wanted _him_ to _make me_ do it. And I... chose a rather bad moment to retaliate.”

“No”, John said finally, still shaking his head. “No, that’s not true-“

“I prefer to believe that”, she cut in again. “Maybe... it’ll help me cope with what’s coming.”

She rose from the chair, turned towards the mantelpiece again.

“So... it’s a done deal, then?” John’s soft voice came from behind her. “You’re really going to part with him?”

She turned back towards him.

“It’s either that or we will keep making each other more and more unhappy.”

She dashed to the kitchen, trying to get her hands busy. She reached for a glass and intended to pour some water into it when John spoke:

“I think he really loves you. He’s just... learning how to express it.”

She stopped, thinking about all the good times they’d shared. It felt like thinking about a previous life. Him, visiting her in Blackpool in secret. Both of them lying in bed and talking about everything that came to their minds. Him, making her laugh. Her, tangling her fingers into his hair. Both of them watching trash telly with his commentary. The little things that made them... _them_.

She managed to smile, even more at the thought of his speech when he said he loved her. She intended to say that she knows that, maybe deep inside, but sometimes love is not enough.

But when she opened her mouth, she felt two things at the same time: coldness and pain in her head. These were the last two things she could remember. After that, there was only darkness.


	4. Don't Worry Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy... I'm getting shorter and shorter. I my writing, I mean. But the next - and the last - one is going to be a bit longer. At least that what it looks like now. Maybe it'll change, who knows!
> 
> Anyway... I feel like my writing is getting worse and worse. I hope you can survive it? For the sake of the story? I surely hope so.
> 
> Enjoy the read!

Before opening her eyes, she felt her body being awakened by a tremendous cold. The air was nippy and almost hurt in the lungs. Every hot exhale resembled a temperature shock. Molly had an urge to wrap her own arms around herself but once she tried to move her arms, she felt resistance. Her wrists were clenched behind her. When lifted her eyelids, she recognised the room right away and her heartbeat quickened, fighting the low temperature.

The room was dark but not completely black. A weak, pale lamp light reached the small window in the metal door from the outside, but not enough to make her visible. She was seated in the darkest spot. And she knew very well no one ever visited it without a special key, and not many people had access to it.

She tried to collect all the data she could. As she was becoming more and more conscious, the thumping pain in her head was getting stronger. Her joints weren’t getting any better either - she could barely move her toes and the hindered blood flow in her hands wasn’t affecting positively on the mobility in her fingers. She was hungry and began to slightly shiver. Her body started slowly feeling the effects of cold.

While her eyes were adjusting to the level of light, trying to scan anything in the opposite corner, she heard a quiet groan and realised she wasn’t alone. She squinted to her right and recognised a familiar face.

“John”, she whispered, her lips trembling and jaw tightened.

A small ounce of happiness managed to warm her face muscles to form a smile. He, however, winced and lifted himself with difficulty from the half-lying position into sitting. He shot a short look around the room and focused his sight on Molly.

“I was hoping you managed to escape”, he replied.

She noticed a very disappointed expression on his face and frowned. When trying to recover the memory of the events before unconsciousness, she found none.

“What happened?”, she asked, watching Watson very carefully.

John was still panting a bit but spoke eventually:

“I’m not entirely sure”, he said. “We were talking, I said something to you and was awaiting any sort of answer and then heard a thud in the kitchen. I was going to check with you but once I stood up, I felt this weird cold and... that’s it.”

She could hardly remember the last three days. She was trying to restore her own memory by replaying the most recent days from the beginning, when John’s voice interrupted her trance.

“Where are we?”

“At Bart’s”, she answered right away.

He frowned, trying to get anything familiar in the darkness to remember it for future purposes.

“How do you know?” He sounded surprised.

“I know this room. And I know why our lips aren’t taped in any way.” Since she received a questioning look from him, she felt like she owed him a further explanation. “This is our very special cold store. We keep very rare samples and expensive equipment here. Only high-level employees have access to this place. The temperature set is really low... and the walls are soundproof.”

John’s face brightened in an odd sort of epiphany only to take a gloomy turn once he realised another truth. Molly observed her friend’s expressions with a confusion.

“What?”

He winced as though trying to get rid of the awful thought that seemed so brilliant just a couple of seconds ago.

“It’s the freezerer.”

“What?”, she repeated, completely baffled.

“The case we’re working on. _The Blood-Curdling Case of The Cold Freezerer_. That’s the title in the draft.”

Molly’s face distorted in both surprise and disgust.

“You should really rethink it, though.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They laughed shortly but happiness faded on their faces as they realised the cold started taking over their mobility in their toes. Molly tried to warm up her joints, even took advantage of her untied legs but she realised she was tied by her hands to a thick pipe and so was John next to her. Even if she tried to straighten up, her log muscles refused to cooperate as the temperature of the room was too low for a body to make any excessive movements.

“I can’t feel my feet”, John said breaking the silence.

She began to feel sleepy. Her heartbeat was slowing down with every minute and she knew she had to find a way to get them out of this situation but her knowledge wouldn’t let her fool herself. The close prospect of death became more real to her than ever.

Last year, she was in danger without knowing of it but the thought of a stranger following her and breaking into her house made her more cautious. When Sherlock told her about how close it could be for her to die, she couldn’t forget it for a long time. She had always been wondering since then: how could she know she wasn’t in a great danger right at the moment? But things like that usually happen only once in a lifetime. Yet, she was tied-up and locked in the coldest freezer in the city, forced to come to terms with death.

“Molly, don’t fall asleep”, she heard from her right. She turned her head towards very worried John. “Please. Tell me a story.”

 _A story_? She didn’t know any good ones. She had a great one in her life... and it had been slowly coming to its tragic end.

“Have I ever told the one when I was locked in a freezer?”

John managed to chuckle.

“Maybe _you_ should tell _me_ a story?” she said. “You have more interesting live. Mine’s just about corpses and stomach contents. You were at war.”

“There are no good stories about war”, he replied. “I can tell you a lot more about my roommating with Sherlock.”

 _Sherlock_. Her heart shrunk at the twinge of sorrow.

His pale face came up in front of her eyes, smiling. She grinned, forcing her frozen muscles to warm up, moving her eyelids slowly: up and down, up and down... The quiet humming of the freezer engine led her into a calming trance. She imagined his hand reaching to her face, caressing her cheek and finally, his lips warming up hers, his fingers tangled in her hair.

But the smile faded away once she realised what happened a couple of days ago.

“No”, she whispered. “H-he c-could f-freeze to death h-here. H-he doesn’t d-deserve this. H-he can’t d-die. Not like t-this. H-he was born to do bigger t-things.”

“Molly, what are you talking about?”

She was shivering but couldn’t tell the reason: it could be the cold as much as her fear.

“What an irony, huh?” she said, forcing a smile. “We are s-supposed to d-die and our only h-hope is the b-biggest pain in our b-butts.”

John chuckled again.

“Not m-my first r-rhodeo, my f-friend”, he responded.

She put all the effort she could into forming a smile on her lips, and he followed with a giggle.

She wanted to respond but she found her jaw fixed together. Her consciousness began to balance on the edge of reality and blur, coming in waves and vanishing in the darkness of the room. She heard a distant voice, in which she recognised John but she wasn’t sure it was him. She knew her heart was pumping blood slower and slower, her eyelids became lead-heavy. She fought hard to keep them opened.

Most of her body wasn’t hers.

As the biggest wave of blur flooded her consciousness, she began to revive the memories she thought she’d forgotten: the first day of school. First kiss. Graduation. Phone call from Bart’s: _You’re hired_. And then came the dark mess of curls, bright eyes. Hurt. _You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always, always..._

The last thing she said to him was about breakup. She suddenly felt like she might have been able to fix it but was too much of a coward to confront with her own feelings. That it would be _possible_. Her fear of fighting for what was important to her had her hide from the world. She was too scared of losing him... and now she was stripped of the chance to make things right.

_I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you._

She wanted to smile but her face was too frozen. She’d said that, yet, she couldn’t tell he’d been sad all this time. He’d been sad because of her. She wasn’t enough. And that was okay. Deep in her heart, she’d always known that. She regretted she wouldn’t get a chance to part with him on good terms. To tell him he would always hold a piece of her heart, no matter what life would bring to both of them.

_Please... just say those words for me._

He’d always counted as well. But he’d known about that, that wouldn’t surprise anyone. Back then, during the call, she couldn’t possibly have known that but if that meant saving his life, she would have said it hundreds of times.

_Say it anyway._

She tried to focus on her lips. Her face felt like a giant void, she wasn’t sure of how much of what was happening was real. White spots started slowly covering her vision.

_Molly, please._

The heaviness won. She noticed something moving in a distance, silhouettes dancing in the blur. She felt being lifted, someone’s warm body pressed against her almost frozen corpse. Putting all the energy she was left of, painfully making her lips move, she whispered inaudibly: _I’m sorry_.

She drifted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand... what do you think will happen? A penny for your thoughts?


	5. Beat Inside Me

She remembered opening her eyes for the first time - it was rather painful and emotional experience. A mix of anxiety and light sensitivity stroke her and she was forced back to sleep. Fighting and turning with her eyes closed, she didn’t even know who took care of her. The shock of being alive was difficult to deal with. Letting the cold win, she was sure she wouldn’t ever have to face the consequences of her actions. That she was done with the sadness and the atmosphere heavy from the unsaid words.

The second wakeup was different, quiet and wordless.

Her eyes were focused on one point on the white ceiling but she felt his presence, sitting next to her in silence. She tried to avoid his gaze and he gazed stubbornly for hours. She doubted he’d ever went home since she arrived at hospital. Doctors would come in and out from time to time, asking her questions, helping her with short physiotherapy. After two days she could walk by herself. She lied to the psychologist pretty smoothly. With her peripheral vision, she spotted _his_ reaction to her performance. _He knew_.

On the third day, John, placed in a room close to her, paid her a visit. She didn’t know how much she missed him until his beaming face showed up at her door.

“Good to see you breathing.”

She opened her arms and he nearly ran towards her to lock her in his embrace. She felt, however, how much of a mistake it was, letting him hug her; the feelings she tried to bury that cold night in the freezer started resurfacing and she was grateful for the fact that Sherlock was behind her, unable to see her face.

John took a step back to look at her. A small wrinkle of dismay divided his forehead once he got to see her glossy eyes. He concealed it with a straight face, directing his attention towards Sherlock.

“You son of a- How did you do it?” The way Watson’s voice turned cheerful was almost a wonder. “How did you figure it out so quickly?”

Molly was still sitting turned back, waiting for the tears to dry. She took a deep but discreet breath, trying to restore balance in her body.

“Quickly?” she heard as she turned around on her bed with her legs crossed. Sherlock winced. “I almost had you two killed!” he exclaimed as though disgusted by himself. “I was a clueless idiot who couldn’t connect the dots in a book for five-year-olds!”

He looked mad and conflicted, and it made Molly frown.

“But we’re fine, Sherlock”. John’s voice was different, it resembled a therapist trying to speak to an agitated patient. “We’re alive.”

Sherlock muttered something under his nose, something which sounded like _I’m not so sure about that_.

“Did Lestrade-“

“Yes, he helped me”, Sherlock interjected, guessing John’s words. “Drove me to Bart’s. And, of course, will get all the credit. I’m not interested in publicity right now.”

Watson’s eyebrows drew closer to each other, him looking at his friend in an utter confusion.

“Well, in that case, you failed rather spectacularly”, he said, getting Holmes’s attention.

He looked up at him immediately, surprise spreading all over his face.

“I scrolled down the news a little bit today. Your case made the first pages everywhere.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, covering them with a hand.

“Wonderful”, he muttered in anger. “Now, I won’t get those monkeys off my back.”

Watson seemed even more confused.

“I thought... I thought you were complaining about the lack of work?”

“And since when having to deal with press is stimulating?” Sherlock snarled at him. “I have things of more importance to deal with right now.”

“Such as?”

“Nothing _you_ should be worried about.”

Molly observed as John gazed at Sherlock, studying his face and probably deducing all he could from Holmes’s turned face. His friend was avoiding his eyes and doctor Watson clearly couldn’t figure out why but he suspected it had something to do with everything Molly had said to him before they were taken.

“Fine”, John replied finally, his cheerful mood gone. “Have it your way. Molly, take care of yourself. I’m really happy you’re okay.” He squeezed her hand before he exited the room.

They were sitting motionlessly for another couple of minutes: she, with her legs crossed on her hospital bed, he, in a chair, staring at one of the turned-off devices on the nightstand. She anticipated a moment he would find it appropriate to speak to her but after a while, she gave up, laying down and covering herself with the bed sheet.

Couple of minutes later, he went out of the room.

* * *

It became perfectly clear for her that whatever he was trying to do in the hospital, was part of his performance. A way to show her his silent consent to what she had said before being taken to the freezer. All the time she lied in the bed, quiet, she felt her heart shrinking at the thought of them going separate ways. She regained parts of the memories before her loss of consciousness and it surprised her what she discovered: she felt utterly guilty for not trying, for getting scared of their... success.

She knew what she had to do and tried to console herself, thinking that he wouldn’t feel a thing. _He’s not that attached_ , she kept reassuring herself in her thoughts. It couldn’t make any damages to him - he trained suppressing his feelings for all his life. _He’ll deal with that very well_. Difficult or not, she didn’t want to do it in a cold and strange hospital. She was nervous for obvious reasons, and therefore felt a little bit sick in the morning, while packing her things with a bag placed on her bed. John was being released at the same time, so he came to visit. Both he and Sherlock engaged in a conversation about their business, and exited the room to gather the release papers from the administration desk.

Once they were gone, Molly sat on her bed, they stomach still sick and heavy, her hands trembling. Her breath was shaky, she gulped with difficulty. She fished in her purse and took a sip from a bottle of water, hoping that it would help her regain any sort of balance but the trauma of being kidnapped and nearly killed, the thought of hurting herself, and maybe him a little, of another change, were putting a stop on her anytime she tried to get everything in her head in order.

 _What if he isn’t going to be fine?_ , the question bothered her while waiting for Sherlock and John to come back. After all, she herself admitted he constantly looked for a counterbalance and she definitely was one. _What if he is never going to regain balance himself?_ Sherlock could say all she wanted about his emotional life but despite all of his statements, he was extremely fragile and unstable, easy to break down. Especially after what Eurus had done to him last year. Instead of putting things in order to get back in control over his heart and mind, Sherlock first continued his suppressing strategy and her leave pushed him to cross the thin line which was his attempt to rationalise everything that happened to him. Then, he simply backed out. Hid in a dark corner of his mind, pretending nothing had ever happened. Scared of dealing with the strength of his feelings for her, he tried to manage being someone’s partner and his old self at the same time. And emotions have one important feature: they like resurfacing when being repressed.

Was she then doing the same thing - covering her guilt with rationalising the future turn of events? She was gaping at her down fingers, intertwining with each other nervously. She hoped she was not.

Two voices behind the door seemed to get closer and closer to the door when they suddenly fell silent and, despite Molly’s assumption two people would enter the room, she was still sitting alone and waiting.

“Listen, before we come in... Lestrade says you’ve caused a lot of damage”, John’s muffled voice came from behind the door. “Byrne’s lawyer is ready to sue.”

There was a silence once the words came out of his mouth.

“Yes, I wasn’t really... sophisticated trying to solve this one”, Sherlock responded, obviously after a moment of careful consideration.

“Yes, that I could tell myself.” Doctor Watson’s tone was turning more and more agitated. “You’re acting bizarre and I don’t want that to affect Molly. Lestrade says you roughed Byrne up.”

“A little bit, yes.” Sherlock remained calm. “I’m not proud of it.”

Molly could swear she heard an exasperated sigh.

“Sherlock, have you gone mad?”

“Indeed, long ago. I’m surprised you’ve noticed it only now.”

“Don’t make jokes, this isn’t funny.” The seriousness in John’s tone made Molly’s heartbeat speed up. “You’ve... you’ve never done that. You’ve always been a show-off, a smartass... you wouldn’t miss a chance to outsmart anyone. And now you’re... you’re beating up the killer?!”

“It was different.” This time, it was Sherlock’s voice which was gravely serious. He emphasised each word of this short sentence.

“ _Different_? How?”

“Personal.” They fell silent again. “More than ever.”

“But, Sherlock, she’s safe now-“

“Shall we?”

Breathing quicker and ever shakier than before, she plastered a fake smile on her face once they entered the room. Sherlock muttered something about the paperwork being done and the three of them exited the hospital, Molly trying to conceal her confusion.

All the way to the flat on Baker Street, she kept mulling over the conversation she was a silence witness of. Guilt grew bigger and heavier, causing her sickness get stronger. She didn’t ate much for breakfast, stress stopping her hunger, though she felt like she wouldn’t keep her stomach content for long. Sherlock and John talked all the way to the place, discussing the future of their business and doctor Watson’s schedule at work. The chat eventually turned into their typical banter, which, given the circumstances, Molly found tedious that day.

The three of them entered the flat, greeted immediately by Mr Hudson at the doorstep, offering tea and biscuits, and Molly dragged her hospital bag up the stairs, her face distorted in an odd expression of fake smile. The landlady was so preoccupied with her tenants’s return she didn’t pay much attention to such details. Molly seized the opportunity to sneak out to the bedroom.

She plopped onto the bed, trying to even out her breath. Convincing herself she could do it, even more so once her eyes rested on their clothes in the wardrobe, mixed together, the little Christmas box with the pieces of the cup inside. She gaped at the giant suitcase lying the closet, waiting for it to move. Her body felt paralysed and frozen, reluctant to give in to her commands. Refusing the situation in an utter incredulity.

She went out of the room half an hour later to find Sherlock, John and Mr Hudson chatting cheerfully in the living room. She joined them, though most unwillingly, feeling the rush to do what had been planned, and finally be over with it. However, it didn’t look like she was going to be relieved really soon - the landlady’s demeanour indicated signs of longing and a strong need of conversation. She would throw a question or two for Molly, luckily, they weren’t really engaging and she could answer them effortlessly. One thing was odd, though: John’s look. Doctor Watson would glance at her from time to time rather suspiciously, awaiting some sort reaction. Molly met his eyes once and his look changed - it seemed like a warning or question: _Are you sure you want to do this?_ Doctor Hooper looked down immediately and John’s body language had gained more restlessness since then.

Nonetheless, he was the one to end the meeting - Rosie was still with her babysitter. He bid everybody goodbye and threw last look to Molly. This time it was softer; a wrinkle of worry showed between his eyebrows. Mr Hudson followed him to the entrance, closing the door behind her.

Once the door was shut, Molly’s heartbeat started racing wildly, hammering loudly in her ears. She didn’t move for a couple of seconds, turned back on Sherlock standing behind her. The entire flat fell awfully silent.

Sherlock didn’t say a word, waiting for her move. Molly heard a soft thumping, though, just a while later. With her peripheral vision, she noticed his silhouette dashing to the kitchen quite casually. She couldn’t help but clench her hands into fists.

“Sherlock”, she called, her voice weak and shaking. The cups and glasses were clinking in the sink but there was not answer. “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

He strolled out of the kitchen, rolling his eyes. Molly tried not to get baffled by his attitude, more even - she prepared for that. She turned slowly towards him, her eyes open wide, her breath shallow and quick, her hands still clenched into fists. Her lips seemed to be refusing the words so she had put a lot of effort to say it out loud.

“You said you wished to talk but I don’t hear any sounds-“

“First, I’d like to thank you for saving my life. I don’t believe I’ve said that before.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“There’s nothing to be grateful for,” he mumbled. “I nearly got you killed.”

She knew it wasn’t true but didn’t feel like arguing about it right now. The heavy sound of her heartbeat was thumping in her ears before she uttered the following words:

“There’s another thing...”

She inhaled deeply, as if to gather more courage.

“I think it would be best if we just split.”

The words hovered in the air for a moment and the gravity suddenly felt stronger, pulling down everything around them. Molly felt weak in her knees and definitely not in the good way.

Sherlock scoffed again, irritated.

“All right, for how long?”

Molly took another deep breath. She started feeling dizzy. All she could manage was a whisper.

“For good.”

Sherlock’s body froze, his eyes widening. Annoyance which made him so restless before, now seemed to disappear, leaving him clueless. Not many people had had the chance to see him in that state of mind: confused, beaten, lost. He struggled to find his own voice, while Molly closed her eyes, trying to take the pain with peace and block his view from herself.

“Well-“ His voice was low and soft at the same time. He looked down. “You’re the one with all the necessary... knowledge on relationships and if you consider this the best option-“

“I do.”

Sherlock lifted his gaze, looking her straight in the eyes, though she tried to avoid it. Something was trapped in her throat and began to attempt an escape. She pressed her lips together and swallowed with difficulty. Blinking intensively, she thought that she had to keep it together just for a little longer.

His softly warm and low voice emerged from somewhere far away and deep, wrapping around her heart and putting a clench on it:

“Then I’ll trust you.”

 _Trust_. That was their word. Not love. Trust, they have a lot of. _Love_? Scraps and illusions, a mix of a genius and an ordinary girl who fell for a guy from the highest shelf. _The detective and the pathologist_. It could happen only on TV screen. How naive of both of them to get themselves fooled like that.

Sherlock’s look rolled up and his bright blue eyes met hers. Her brown irises seemed darker, her body trembling. She did everything she could but her throat slipped out of control, tightening and uttering a short sob. Her eyes filled with tears.

She took two steps back.

“I hope you’ll be very happy, Sherlock Holmes.”

Molly grabbed a suitcase standing in the dark corner of the living room and ran out of the flat, ignoring Mr Hudson’s calling.

* * *

Molly glanced at the biscuits on her plate and felt a wave of nausea coming up her throat. She winced and reached for her teacup, taking a big, thirsty sip. Her tea usually included honey but oddly, the bitterness of unsweetened tea helped her a lot with the sickness. Stress wouldn’t let go of her, slowly reflecting on her life functions.

_You seem very stressed, Molly._

She swallowed her tears as usually for the last two weeks. Her hand started shaking and the teaspoon she held clinked against the edge of the teacup. Molly took a deep breath, feeling her heart slowing down.

_Stress can ruin every day of your life, death can only ruin one._

She knew that was true and now she felt it even more. Although the problem with job was dealt with shortly after her move out, she didn’t feel much of a relief. He would come to her often during the day, showing up in a random happy memory. Both of them tangled up in each other. His voice saying _I love you_ over the phone. His breath tickling her cheeks. His hands sliding down her body. His smile once he knew she was satisfied. All of those thoughts were a dangerous mix which held her constantly down. She slept a lot, taking the opportunity to rest before she got to start her new job. But dreams weren’t much of a comfort either. She often showed up as the villain in them, acting cold and mean towards him hurt and in severe pain. There were times when she would wake up with her face wet from tears.

The teaspoon clinked again as Molly jumped at the sound of the doorbell. She frowned, a little bit curious, and walked up the door, opening them.

John Watson’s face was incredibly serious, although he couldn’t help but smile a little at her sight.

“May I come in?”

Couple of minutes later she sat on her couch with his own cup of steaming tea. There was an utter silence, none of them spoke until they could sit down on the opposite places of the coffee table. He took a sip of his drink once they were settled but then started gazing at her and not in a nice way. She tried to avoid it, though she didn’t really know as to why she was acting this way. She did have her suspicions, however.

“Congratulations, Molly.” There was nothing resembling genuineness in his voice, filled entirely with sarcasm. “Month number two, if I had to guess?” Her eyes widened suddenly. John seemed satisfied with her surprise. “How long have you known?”

She had to put away her tea, scared she might choke. She rested her eyes on her fidgeting hands.

“They ran a couple of tests while I was in the hospital”, she replied, her voice trembling. “It came out kind of... accidentally. I’ve suspected it for some time, though.”

“And he doesn’t know, of course?”

Molly rolled her gaze down, silent. John’s voice cut through the air.

“It’s his right to know.”

“I know!” It came out unexpectedly loud. “I know. I just... I just... don’t want him involved for now. Things with us took a terrible but expected turn and he’s not interested in anything but his work anyway. I don’t want to... disappoint him. Because I don’t have to have a great mind like him to know that this information would cause a huge disappointment. He would feel obliged to give up his job and a child seems... so down-to-Earth. So... average.” There was no answer from Watson and she almost rolled her eyes at his facial expression. “Seriously, John, you can’t tell me you can imagine him changing diapers in the middle of the night! He’s just... born for bigger things.”

She could manage the information, though processing it had to take some time. She felt almost struck by it when the doctor came to tell her the news. It was almost catatonic. Sherlock would take it a lot worse. He could even get a nervous breakdown.

“And you think you can pull it off on your own?”

Molly shrugged.

“I’ll try”, she replied humbly. “I’ve got a job at this lab... I’m starting next week.”

They fell silent again and many thought were racing through her head. She was afraid now that John could feel like not saying this to Sherlock would be a betrayal. But, on the other hand, his friend kept his fake death a secret for two years. She had an ace up in her sleeve. She observed his stare softened, seeing her so poor and sad. So given up.

“John, can I count on your confidentiality again?”

He rose from his seat, extending his arms towards her.

“Come here.”

She took the offer without a shred of hesitation. He pulled her in and tighten up the grip. All of the pieces she thought she kept together fell apart as no one had ever tried to pieced them. A wave of shuddering sobbing went through her body and she was sure she had no control over the awful sounds she kept making. John wouldn’t let go of the grip, keeping her in one place, with the same strength. It meant more than everything to her.

After a couple minutes of crying, she finally pulled away, her eyes red and immediately swollen.

“To answer your question - of course you can, Molly”. John was smiling and she returned that. “But please, let me at least help you. I know you can do anything... but parenting can be hard. And I have some practise as you might have noticed.”

She chuckled, finally relieved.

“All right, fine”, she conceded with her hands up. “You can drop by anytime.”

They looked at each other for a while and crashed into an embrace again, this time smiling. They went back to their initial seats but the atmosphere felt a lot lighter.

“So, if you’re thinking about the name, Hamish is a good one.” He grinned and Molly rolled her eyes, chuckling.

“Did you seriously think I would fall for that?”

“It was worth to try.”

Although she promised herself to keep it a secret, she definitely felt better after telling John. He was a good friend, not only of Sherlock’s, and she had a hunch she could trust him. Besides, she would need a company since all of her old friends had to be cut off. How else she could hide her belly?

She would caress it from time to time, smiling. She thought life could be good again. It would definitely take some time, but it seemed less impossible with John Watson on her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand... that's a wrap! Yes, that really is it. The end of the story. Well, at least for this part. 
> 
> What do you think? Is it the most reasonable for Sherlolly to split? Or should they be together? And if they should, do you want me to write another part of the series? Let me know!
> 
> Oh, and thank you for all the comments, you're the best. ❤️


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